Embrace Your Age!
I was considering my age. I never in a million years thought I would ever be 51. But then you can imagine my delight to read that 50 is the new 40. My age group seems to be the one that coined that age-defying hypothesis. It was 30 is the new 20, then it was 40 is the new 30, and now I have hit the new 40. I am not sure what is gained by staying a decade behind the truth. But I have no illusions about my age. Fifty-one, feels just like that. Fifty-one.
I am not sure whom they think they are fooling. When asked about age, am I supposed to say “I am fifty-one, but in truth, I am forty-one”? Would you not laugh in my face? I would have a hard time keeping a laugh under wraps if someone said that to me.
My doctor is not fooled. I have signed up for my colonoscopy. If I were really forty, I would not sign up for this treat, I assure you. So maybe I should call him up and tell him the new theory. Then I could go and pick up my new medicines for being delusional. That is where that would get me in the real world. And it should. That just sounds silly.
But Hollywood is so entrenched in youth, and the desperate grab at hanging on to it. The plastic surgery world depends on us doing just that. That may explain the follies of youth that my boys wear so well. Maybe I should tell them they are really just 7, 12, and 15. You know what that would get me? Poorville. If you want to be younger, it would need to be encompassed financially as well. I would be paying for them forever. They have done well at being shoved by me into an independent mode. I would never change that for anything. That gift does not go hand in hand with me pretending I am a different age than I really am.
I was watching this little news clip about Anne Frank. This is the anniversary of the little group in that annex being captured, and taken to their eventual death. They were interviewing a childhood chum, who grew up with Anne Frank. They were doing a nice job, until... the interviewer handed this woman who has seen human depravity at its worse, a picture. It had the famous picture of the child / victim. Beside this picture is a computerized version of what she would look like today. The interviewee looked disgusted. She said it was a nice picture. But this “lovely grandma,” did not have the look in her eyes of going through what they did. Not much he could respond. She was insulted, and justifiably so.
So, when did we lose the ability to embrace our age? Don’t we deserve the grey hairs? The laugh lines from a million moments that could never be re-played. To capture the beauty of the sweet goodnights, the butterfly kisses, the look of true love that the little children give away so freely to their moms. We have deserved the changes that come with aging. I will not be getting any tucks or nips. I deserve the mom figure, the fifty year old look. I have fought the good fight, and I am not ashamed or disgruntled about my age. What is the alternative?
I am healthy, robust even. I am not a beauty by any stretch. But I have a family that makes me feel like I am fantastic every single day. I can tell subtle differences from four decades to five. Mainly how much longer it takes to heal, so I have begun to be more careful. I should have done that about twenty years ago. But that is youth. The feeling that we will never be the same age our parents were.
The laugh lines, the wisdom. The body that I sport now is different than it once was. But I am told I am beautiful, my family gives that to me. I have earned every grey hair on my head. I was not intending on looking like Jay Leno’s sister, but that is life. It is my life. I am fifty-one. I look fifty-one, but I am loved, I feel good, and I will never tell you I am really forty-one. Embrace yourself. I know many of you, and each time I see these friends, I am always struck by something beautiful about them.
I loved to watch my mom’s hands. Until the day she passed, I would study these hands. She suffered with terrible arthritis. It took the thumb joint away from her. But those hands were wonderful and strong. We can’t tell our kids to be alright with who they are if we are always trying to be ten years younger than what is true. I am fifty-one. I deserve every blemish, every age spot, every pant size gained. Yet, I hold my head high. That is the wisdom of a few years lived. I wouldn’t change anything, you shouldn’t either. We are 30, 40, 50, 60, 70 and on it goes. All beautiful in different ways, but beautiful we are! Even at my age.
Hope everybody had a great weekend! I thank you for supporting THIS indie writer. Let’s talk again tomorrow. Ruth